


Popsicle

by thenotsofantasticlifestory



Category: One Piece
Genre: Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Gen, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Oral Sex, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenotsofantasticlifestory/pseuds/thenotsofantasticlifestory
Summary: Killer can't help the dirty thoughts running through his head when you sit next to him, eating a popsicle.
Relationships: Killer (One Piece)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 183





	Popsicle

**Author's Note:**

> more Killer filth cause I love him

Even on a cooler day, the mess hall was always stuffy, but in the heat of summer with several bodies clustered among tables and hot food it was almost unbearable. Killer could feel the sweat beading his forehead beneath his mask, discreetly lifting it just enough to wipe his face. Kid sat across from him, food finished and a whiskey drowned in ice clenched in his fist. There were occasional grumbles from the crew but most had resigned themselves to the weather, tearing off shirts or tying sweatbands across their heads.  


When you plopped down next to Killer, tank top and shorts as bare as you could to escape the heat without walking around naked, he gulped. You had something wrapped in plastic in one hand.  


“This heat is ridiculous; can’t you do something about it Kid?” you asked.  


Kid grunted in response, having shed his large fur jacket although sweat continued to run down his back in rivulets. Killer kept his stare on the package in your hand.  


“What’s that?” he asked.  


You perked up, “I managed to save a frozen treat from the last island, it’s perfect for days like this.” Unwrapping the plastic, you held a bright red popsicle, already beginning to sweat in the heat. “It’s the last one though…” you looked to him apologetically.  


Killer waved it off, more than content with his pasta plated before him. He’s about to turn back to his own meal when he hears you moan.  


Every muscle in his body goes rigid and he’s positive he must be hearing things. Surely that wasn’t real, something like that he’d only fantasize about in the privacy of his cabin, but when he turns again to look, he’s proven wrong. There you are, lips gently wrapped around the tip of the popsicle and you give another appreciative moan, pulling it out to lick along the sides with enthusiasm.  


Killer is frozen to the spot, no matter how hard he tries he can’t tear his eyes away, but you couldn’t tell he was staring right? He keeps his mask face forward, tilted just enough to keep you in sight without being too obvious as you lick and suck around the treat.  


“God I really needed that,” you say.  


To his absolute horror, he can feel the way his jeans get tight, oh god was he was getting hard? Right now? Kid’s face was flushed but more with alcohol than anything else, it was noticeable in the cloudiness of his eyes, but seemed otherwise unperturbed. Killer twisted around to get a look at the others, faking stretching his back, someone else had to be seeing this right? He couldn’t possibly be the only one watching you take the red ice deeper into you mouth making the lewdest, most satisfied little noises. Everyone was deep in conversation with others, unaware of this predicament set before him.  


You took the popsicle and began to lick around the base near the stick, laving your fingers in the process, to catch the dripping juices, and Killer absolutely abhorred himself in that moment, because all he could think about was how good you would look licking up the base of his-  


_No._  


What was wrong with him? He was better than this, surely, but the way his pants grew more uncomfortable told him otherwise. He scooted his seat closer to the table, hoping to hide, and wrestled his focus onto his plate of food. It almost worked, almost, but he could _hear_ you, even over the general din of talk and cutlery, as if his ears were purposefully picking up those wet smacking sounds and somehow that was even worse, because at least if he looked, he knew it was just a popsicle. But with just sounds it was far too easy to imagine something else.  


A sucking, squelching sound and Killer felt his eyes being dragged back to you. Sucking the tip of the dessert had made it more tapered at the end, much more phallic looking than he remembered food being. Your tongue gave a long lick along the entirety of the ice, juice and saliva gathering on your tongue, before swallowing with a contented hum.  


Killer nearly bent his fork in half, god he couldn’t take much more of this. He could feel the flush crawling down his neck and how was he supposed to hide that? You were sucking more audibly, lips stained red and shining wet as his throat dried up, wondering if he’d be able to taste the cherry with just a brush of a kiss. Unaware of his suffering, you turned to Killer, mouth still filled with flavored ice and, _oh god_ , he could see the tip of the popsicle bulging from the inside of your cheek, sending a flurry of dirty fantasies racing through him. Your eyes were wide, curious as you hummed in question and drew the treat out with a distinct pop, “Killer are you okay? You seem nauseous.”  


Your lips are swollen with the cold and such a sinful dark red it nearly matches his own lipstick and it was all too easy to imagine it smeared across your face, mixed with saliva as you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking and laving gently with your tongue…  


“I’m fine,” he chokes out, and it’s everything he has to keep his voice as level as possible. His fork stabs the plate of noodles in front of him, doing little to grab any, while he’s only thankful his mask is on and hiding the chewing of his lip. His eyes are glued back to you as you shrug and take the popsicle into your mouth again, lips sliding around and indecent sucking noises sounding ungodly loud even through his helmet. Twisting around the ice, your pink tongue pokes out to gather some of the dripping juice making his breath hitch. He freezes, hoping no one heard but everyone is invested in their own meals and conversations. Kid gives him an odd look before returning to his whiskey.  


God, he feels like such a pervert, this was his friend, his crewmate, and here he was trying to will away the growing erection in his jeans while he sat right next to you. Could you see? His stomach was already pressed to the edge of the table to conceal anything beneath. What if you saw? Would you scream? You’d hate him and he could kiss goodbye any chance of confessing his genuine feelings. But really did he even deserve someone like you? A dirty voyeur getting hard watching you eat a goddamn popsicle? His face reddened even further, shame flooding his body.  


A loud slurping sound draws him back, and he watches as you take the entirety of the popsicle to the hilt, eyes closing in pleasure.  


The clang of metal against his mask startles him as he realizes he’s raised his fork to eat with no food on it. He’s positive he’s bent it this time.  


You slowly draw the ice out from your throat with a pleased hum and was the popsicle always that long? He could’ve sworn they made them smaller and not so exactly phallic sized.  


“Are you really sure you’re okay?” you asked.  


Killer realizes his empty fork is still raised to his mask before dropping it quickly. Shit he must look like some kind of drunk or something right now, even Kid is staring at him again.  


“I’m fine, really,” he says, lying through his teeth, “I guess I’m just…” there’s a dribble of juice running down the stick over your fingers and he wants to lick them clean, “I’m not too hungry right now.”  


Your eyes narrow, tongue swiping gently against the frozen treat and how can you not realize what you’re doing?  


“Whatever you say,” you sound unconvinced and mumble something else but it’s lost to him, seeing the head of the popsicle press against your puckered lips as you continue swiping a lazy tongue over the it. The air feels stifling and the blood pumping through him (or south) isn’t helping, ice melting in steady drips but you don’t seem bothered. He eyes a particularly fat drop that has escaped your tongue, spit mixed with the red juice as it dribbles down your chin leaving a vibrant streak traveling slowly, before dropping into a lewd splatter right onto your breast above the tank top.  


Killer rises abruptly, mumbling something about work to do, and practically sprints out of the mess hall.  


+++++++  


Clothes are ripped off and tossed aside in seconds and it’s a miracle he didn’t tear something or break his helmet as he tore it off, a rush of cool air surrounding his sweating face. He’s been standing under an icy stream of water for a solid five minutes but his cock is still swollen and hard.  


Killer hopes his sheer force of will can banish his erection but the cold water dripping (that popsicle) around his heated skin is doing absolutely nothing. With a shuddering breath he gives up, resigning himself to his baser desires as his takes hold of his cock, pumping his fist at a steady pace. The pleasure that shoots white hot through his veins is wonderful and it’s enough to keep him from thinking of how degrading and perverse what he’s doing is. One arm braces the wall, his forehead pressing against the slick tile and he closes his eyes, picturing you and that popsicle, your swollen lips and pink tongue.  


He imagines you in the shower there with him, soapy water running down your chest and face wet, drops of water clinging to your lashes, while those lips are stretched around his cock. Mouth open wide to take his girth and Killer tightens his grip, panting softly that sounds loud in the bathroom. The quick squelching sounds of his thrusting cock lets him imagine how beautiful it would sound as you sucked around him. Your eyes would flutter closed as you took him deeper and deeper, visible through your cheeks as you slurped and huffed, spit running down you chin. How deep could you take him? You would pull him forward, nose meeting the base of his blonde curls and gagging at how large he is.  


“Shit…” he puffs. Swiping a thumb over the head of his cock, he gathers the precum already leaking there, using it as a slicker lube. His thumb finds that especially sensitive vein running along the underside and he presses along it. Your tongue firmly running down those sensitive spots, finding the visible veins and tracing them adoringly.  


Fingers twitch as he imagines fisting into your wet hair, getting a firm grip as he holds you still, thrusting lightly into your warm mouth. His hips are rocking into his fist now, relishing the imaginary feel of your throat constricting around him. The familiar coil of heat in his stomach is tightening and he knows he’s close. His mind flashes to that image of the popsicle drip, rolling down your chin until it finally splayed on your breast and how stunning you would be, teary eyed and flushed as he pulls out, pumping hard and finishing onto your eager face-  


_“Fuck!”_ Killer’s head swims as he comes, seed spurting against the tile and dripping from his fist as he gives a few more hard jerks to milk himself. His high is coming down and suddenly he can feel how freezing the water is, twisting the faucet off as he catches his breath. Now that the cloud of arousal has begun to clear, he’s left only with the deep feeling of shame and embarrassment sitting in his stomach like a rock. What on earth would you think of him if you knew? He grabs a towel and dries quickly, hair still damp, before retreating back to his cabin.  


+++++++++  


“You’re fucking sadistic, you know that?” Kid says, but not without a hint of admiration.  


You tossed the finished stick into the garbage, a triumphant smile stretching across your face, “I know.”  


Kid’s smirk grew as well, seeing your obvious pleasure in unraveling his friend, “You’re gonna kill him one of these days,” he laughs.  


“Don’t worry,” you shrug your shoulders, “he won’t have to endure it much longer.” And neither could you really, the confession was already planned and written down, practiced in the bathroom mirror several times. You’d put him out of his misery soon, but you had to admit, it certainly was fun playing innocent while you still could.


End file.
